In his colourful autobiography Vita, meaning ‘life’, the Italian Renaissance sculptor-goldsmith-soldier-musician Benvenuto Cellini had decreed wisely: “No matter what sort he is, everyone who has to his credit what are or really seem great achievements, if he cares for truth and goodness, ought to write the story of his own life in his own hand; but no one should venture on such a splendid undertaking before he is over forty.” That was in 1558, as Cellini inched towards age 60.